Tag Archives: short story

How to get out of a pickle

“Has anyone seen Georg? We have guests arriving this evening from Germany and they want to be sure that we have Rouladen on the menu and we are short on dill pickles. What is Rouladen without dill pickles?” Maria asked. Kurt, who was responsible for the menu for the lodge looked at Maria and rolled his eyes. “Why can’t we be entertaining some French guests? I spent 3 years in culinary school in France, but all I do is serve Rouladen and Spaetzle.” Kurt complained. “Kurt, we are an Austrian style lodge and we prepare meals that our guests expect from an Austrian lodge; you know that. If you are getting bored with our normal fare, then try and put your own spin on it.” Maria suggested. “Hey, that’s a good idea. I’ll do that!” Kurt replied as he started his team on their respective tasks.

Just then Georg walked in, still deep in thought, but the bustling about in the kitchen quickly brought him back to the present. “Georg, you must go to town and get us more dill pickles for tonight’s dinner. We are almost out.” Maria complained. “Well, I will have to admit that I did help myself to them the other day. I have been having a craving for dill pickles lately.” Georg confessed. Maria looked at him with a twinkle in her eye and said, “My dear Georg, you aren’t even showing!” When Georg caught her joke, he chuckled to himself as he headed for the rear entrance of the kitchen to get in his trusty Willy. Maria always knew how to put him at ease and lighten his mood.

The market was only a 10 minute drive from the lodge. Mac’s Market was their answer to those last minute needs. Georg pulled into the parking lot and hopped out of the Willy. As he opened the door and entered the market, Mac, the owner was talking with a bag boy who was putting a half gallon of ice cream on top of a dozen eggs. “Josh, you can’t put ice cream on top of eggs!” he exclaimed. John looked at Mac puzzled, “But I thought you said to put all of the cold items in one bag.” he replied. “Correct, but unless you want scrambled eggs, the eggs have to be on top.” said Mac as he corrected his bag boy. “Oh hi Georg.” Mac said as Georg headed for the pickle aisle.

“Hey Mac, how are things in grocery land?” he asked. He knew that Mac would always have a witty comeback. “Eggscelent!” Mac replied with a grin. Georg rolled his eyes. “Hey, I hear that you are having some special guests this evening Georg.” “Not really, just some guests from Germany. You know, they want a taste of home while in the states. How did you know anyway?” Georg inquired. “Well, one of the guests was in here yesterday asking questions about you.” Mac said while making sure his bag boy was paying attention to his bagging etiquette. “Really? Well they are probably just interested to know if Maria and I are still alive and kicking.” Georg said. “True, but this guy didn’t seem to be the tourist type. He was asking me if I knew anything about you before you came to Vermont, you know, right before the war. He also seemed a little out of place, like he had just gotten off the boat if you know what I mean.” Mac said while Georg found his prized bottles of dill pickles. “No, I don’t know what you mean Mac. Like I said, I’m sure he’s just one of many of those that want a chance to meet us.” “Ok, you’re probably right Georg, but I did catch his name when I took his credit card and ran it through the credit card imprinter. I have it in my office. Maybe you know him.” Mac said while heading to his office. Georg headed to the cash register to pay for his chief ingredient of the infamous Rouladen dish. As Mac returned from his office he said, “It says right here, ‘Rolf Gruber, have you ever heard of him?” Georg dropped the bottle of pickles that he was holding onto the belt of the checkout aisle, almost breaking it. “Did you say Rolf Gruber?” Georg asked. “Yes, why?” Mac inquired. “How old would you say that this Rolf Gruber is?” Georg inquired. “Oh, I would say about 55 or so. Why, do you know this guy? ” Mac asked while watching Georg stand there frozen. “Yes, you can say that I do. I just wasn’t expecting to hear this while on my pickle run.” Georg said while collecting his change and heading out the door. “See you Georg.” Mac said while Georg walked slowly to the Willy. “This can’t be happening. Why would Rolf come all the way here? I am not feeling very good about this sudden burst of popularity. Entertaining fans from America is one thing, but to be the point of interest from Germans and these Germans in particular isn’t giving me a good feeling. He grabbed one of the bottles of pickles and opened it, just to sample one to make sure that they were ok. He took a bite of one of the crisp pickles and smiled as he remembered Maria’s teasing about his recent craving. “This is one pickle that I’m not sure how to get out of.” he said to himself while heading back to the lodge. Shaking his head, he tossed the rest of the pickle from the Willy out into the trees as he headed up the hill to the lodge.

A walk in time

It was time for my morning stroll. Maria had already begun her day by going to the lodge, making sure that the kids were running it in strict Von Trapp style, but with the friendliness of a small Austrian town. I, on the other hand, enjoyed these morning walks, not precisely a Wanderung or hike as you might call it, they just cleared my head for the day. For forty years, I had been able to forget about my former life in Austria, not that it was all that bad. I had lots of wonderful memories; it was just the ending that soured it. My Austria had changed so much from when I was a boy. My parents would take us to the coast, to watch the ships and feel the cool breeze off of the sea, before Austria lost its coastline.

JULIAN STRATENSCHULTE/AFP/Getty Images)

We enjoyed many beautiful summers there by the sea. My wife and I had a wonderful life before her death. I wasn’t always so stern. Life had toughened me up. The loss of my wife’s inheritance by me trying to help a banking friend and then having to find a governess to raise our seven children was a lot to handle. Pushing away the emotions of it all just seemed easier to do, rather than deal with the disappointments that life had handed to me.

There was a part of me that I hadn’t shared with my family, at least not my children. I had always hoped that I would take that secret with me to my grave. The family thought I had stayed with the Navy, and they were right, they just didn’t know what I was actually doing with the Navy. I had to find a way to support them. Maria and I added three more to our brood, for a total of 10 children. It took a lot of Schnitzels to keep them full! I knew that there were those who didn’t want me to leave Austria. I had secrets that they did not want me to share with others in the world, but I had to leave that life behind. Opening a lodge in Vermont and getting into the hospitality business was a far cry from my vocation in Osterreich. The lure of being handed our old home on a silver platter from the previous owners was very tempting. I had always wanted to visit, but to be able to live there was more than I could have ever hoped for.

Somehow, I wish I could travel back in time and change some of the decisions that I had made, but that wasn’t possible. As soon as that mental statement left my mind, I was instantly reminded of why Herman Richter and I were working on Xerum 525. It was Hitler’s fascination with things that were not quite reality. Die Glocke was basically a cyclotron, a way to make enriched Uranium 233. I did not want to be part of that research, but I didn’t have much of a choice at the time. Everything that I had knowledge of, I had kept to myself. I didn’t even know that Herman was still alive. The number of coincidences was now becoming evident that they were not coincidences at all. Someone wanted me back in Austria, but who?

You can’t unring a bell

“Let me know what you find out Larz,” Brigitta shouted from the top of the stairs as I headed out to the car. “You know, I will,” Larz replied as he closed the door and almost tripped over their golden retriever Max who wanted to play. “Sorry, Max, not today. I have some investigating to do.” Larz settled into his trusty Mercedes that had seen a good amount of miles. “This just doesn’t make sense. Why would the embassy and Rolf both contact us within two days of each other? Rolf had to know that Georg would find out about his involvement with the NPD.”

The traffic was heavy this morning on I-89, heading to Burlington. The leaf peepers as we called them, were out in force, trying to experience the beautiful colors of the changing leaves in New England. I had to admit that the brush strokes that God used to paint the forests with, crimson red, golden orange, and bright yellow hues were pretty breathtaking, even if I had seen it every year for the past 40 years.
I finally reached the city and headed into the parking garage to find my designated parking space. Parking garages were essential in the city during the cold Vermont winters. As I got out of the car, I noticed that my boss Bob Adler was just pulling into his parking space, a couple of spaces down from me as well. As I headed to the elevator, he called out to me, “Hey Larz, glad we arrived at the same time, I wanted to chat with you a bit about this whole property settlement with your father in laws old home in Austria. I have been thinking about this whole thing over the weekend and did a little digging. You know that Austria lost their coastline after World War 1 and the captain wasn’t needed to sail a sub with their being no need for a Navy. “I know, he has told us that he missed being on a submarine, that he had always been fascinated with them,” Larz replied. “Right, but did he ever tell you what he did after that?” Adler said with a slight grin. “No, he said that his first wife died shortly after that and that the family had to sing to help earn money after the Austrian bank went belly up with most of his deceased wife’s inheritance,” Larz responded. “Have you ever heard of Die Glocke?” Adler asked. “No I haven’t, and my German isn’t too good. It sounds like The Clock. Am I close?” I said. “You are close, but don’t feel bad, I didn’t know either. It’s like Glockenspiel, you know, a bell. It means The Bell.” Adler admitted. “Great, now that we have had our German lesson for the day and we are almost at our floor, what does all of this mean Bob?” I inquired. “Well, your father in law had a background in physics and was offered a chance to help a young physicist, Herman Richter develops Xerum 525, a code name for something called red mercury. Georg had no idea what it was for or why he just knew that he needed income for his family. Of course, this was before the war. Scientists are always looking to advance their fields of study. Georg agreed, and he and his fellow physicist made a good amount of progress developing the stuff. Supposedly the substance allowed for some pretty far out claims. Even though Germany which needed naval commanders told Georg that they wanted him to command a U boat, my friend within the intelligence community said that the Nazi’s probably wanted to commandeer him to work with the rest of the scientists that were coerced to work on Hitler’s secret projects.” Adler said as the elevator doors opened up. “I’ll get with you later in the day to tell you what their old home in Austria has to do with all of this,” he said as he walked down the hall to his office.

I couldn’t believe that he was just going to leave me there wondering. What the heck was Die Glocke, and what did it have to do with inheriting a house? I walked into my office just as the phone began to ring. It was Brigitta. “Hi Larz, I just got off the phone with my dad. He said that he had just been contacted by an old friend, Herman Richter. Does that name ring a bell?” she asked. I stared at the phone speechless.

Something doesn’t make sense

The news that I wanted to share seemed not worth sharing,
now that the bombshell had been dropped about Rolf and this new movement that was gaining ground in Germany. How could I take my family back to Austria when this type of evil was starting to rear its ugly head? How could I even bring it up?

“Father?” Briggita asked, “What did you and mother want to share with us?” Maria glanced over at me with that “Now what are we going to do?” look. I looked back at her, not sure how to reply. “I received a letter the other day from none other than Rolf. As you know, I have not communicated with him since that last night in the Abbey. In the letter, he said that our old home had fallen into disrepair and that the owners wanted to leave it to us in their will. I also received a phone call from the U.S. Ambassador to Austria asking if I would be returning to Austria as the owners of our old home had willed the home to us after their passing. This confirmed what Rolf had written in his letter. Your mother and I wanted to come to meet with all of you to ask if you would be interested in returning, if not just to visit, our old home in Austria, but what Brigitta and Larz just shared puts a whole different tone on this opportunity. Something is not making sense. It seems too much of a coincidence that Rolf and Mr. Grunwald from the Embassy would contact me almost at the same time.”

Everyone looked at me in disbelief while I explained the events of the last couple of days. “Dad, that is fantastic. We have to go back!” Gretl exclaimed. “How many people just leave you a house? I would love to go back. The issues in Germany are not in Austria……” “Don’t ever say that!” I shouted, “Don’t even think that.” You know what that kind of thinking did to Austria. We never thought that it would come to us, then friends and neighbors jumped on the bandwagon thinking that Anschluss would be a good thing for Austria.
The one thing that history teaches us is that man does not learn by his past mistakes.” Gretl looked back knowing that she had hit a nerve as Kristen shrank back in her seat, hating these conversations that she had hoped would never return. “I think that we should investigate why the U.S. Ambassador is involved as well as let me do some research when I return to work on Monday,” Larz said. “Sometimes when something seems too good to be true, many times it is. I’m hoping that these are just coincidences. I would also like to see what Rolf Gruber has been doing all of these years and why he felt the need to write to you knowing that you would have found out about our old home anyway through the normal channels.”

Maria spoke up, “I’m just glad that Liesl isn’t here to experience this, God rest her soul. She would have been heartbroken once again. I for one do not want to expose our children and families to any sort of danger again. Once was enough.”
“I agree Maria,” Georg said, “but something has been calling me back to that night in the Abbey and I can’t quite put my finger on why. In Rolf’s letter, he said that Leisl had contacted him right before we went on stage for the concert and that he wanted to help us escape and now you tell me that Rolf is one of the masterminds of this new movement. Something does not make sense Larz, something is missing.” “I agree with you, Georg. There are just too many coincidences. Does anyone else know about this?” Larz asked. “Only your mother and the rest of you here,” I replied. “Let’s keep this to ourselves while I do some investigating. In the meantime, let’s eat dinner. Brigitta has worked hard to fix us one of our favorite Austrian meals.” Larz said with pride. “Maria, let’s have some music. We don’t want your accordion to go to waste!” I said as the younger children came in from playing football in the yard. “Oh no, not accordion music!” one of the grandkids complained. Almost on cue, everyone let out a laugh just in time to break the tension in the room.

Daydreams aren’t always pleasant

“Put that down.”
“Not another move or I’ll shoot.”
“You’re only a boy. You don’t belong to them.”
“Stay where you are.”
“Come away with us. Before it’s too late.”
“Not another step. I’ll kill you.”
“You give that to me, Rolf. -Did you hear me?”
“I’ll kill you.”
I moved closer to grab the gun. Bang! The Luger fired right as I was grabbing the barrel. The hot molten lead pierced my chest. It was as if someone had drained all of the energy out of me as I fell to my knees. “Georg! Maria screamed.” She came running from behind the fenced in crypt area.
“I didn’t mean to…..the gun just went off!” Rolf insisted.
Everything was getting darker and darker as I felt the blood running down my chest onto the cemetery floor. How could it end this way? We were so close to escaping the horrors that were descending upon Austria.

“Georg, I’m going into town. Do you need anything?” Maria said as she woke me from my afternoon slumber on the front porch of our Vermont home. “No, I don’t believe so, thanks” I replied. As Maria left, I slowly came back to the present. This wasn’t the first time that I had this dream. I always woke up right after the feeling of life was leaving my body. I was getting tired of this dream, and now it seemed as though I was having this dream more often. It had been so many years since we left Austria, our home, our country and our way of life that we had known for so many years. We left Austria due to the Anschluss of the two countries and the Nazi occupation of Austria. We had never returned. Don’t ask me why. I had never even applied to become a citizen of our new home, the United States; my heart was still in Austria. Each year that passed, the more I longed to return to Austria if nothing else to see what had become of my beloved homeland since the war was long over. What happened to our home? How about the convent that my wife left? Did either of them survive that awful war? So many questions and very few answers. It’s the answers that eluded me. I had plenty of questions. Time wasn’t on my side as I found it harder and harder to get around due to arthritis that had taken its toll on my body. I felt as though time was ticking away and my desire to return was becoming more of a recurring thought, just like this bad dream.

My phone rang, waking me from my daydreaming of Austria. “Hi, father,” Brigitta said on the other end of the phone. “We were wondering if you and mother would be interested in coming over to our place Saturday night.” “I imagine we could. Is there a particular reason that you wanted us to come over?” I asked. “No, not really, John and I have both been discussing something, and we wanted to run it by you and mother.” “You aren’t thinking of moving to that retirement community in Florida that we visited with you last year are you?” I said thinking that was the reason for the invitation. “No, not at all. we want your opinion on something that we were going to do and wanted to see if you and mother would be interested as well.” “Oh well, ok, I will ask your mother when she returns. Love you.” I replied with relief. They had been talking about moving to Florida since both of them had retired earlier that year. They wanted to leave the cold winters of Vermont behind now that their kids were on their own. I couldn’t believe that my children had grandchildren. Where had time gone? I felt very blessed, though we had lost our beloved Liesl 3 years prior. That was a tough time for both Maria and me. I’m not sure that I would have recovered if it had not been the love and support of our other children. Maria and I were very fortunate to have such a close family. For many years we all toured the United States as the Trapp Family Singers until the children wanted to pursue their futures and not live in the shadows of another life that we once enjoyed. Our family lodge in Stowe was still going, although we had left the daily running of this to Kurt who was much younger than Maria and me. He was more than glad to answer the myriad of questions about the family.

Suddenly, I heard the top of the mailbox slam as the postman delivered his daily stack of junk mail with a few interspersed pieces of fan mail from those that had stayed at our lodge. I got up from the chair on the porch and walked around to where the mailbox was. With the advent of email, I wondered why people still bothered with mailing letters. It was probably due to the same reason that I went to the mailbox each day; a thing of habit. As I leafed through the mail, I tossed the junk mail in the wastebasket inside the doorway that was placed conveniently there for such things. In the middle of the stack of mail, there was an actual piece of mail that looked like a letter. The handwriting on it had a sort of strange writing on it. Some of the letters looked like the writing of friends that we still corresponded with in Austria. My heart leaped as I enjoyed anything from our homeland. I quickly turned the envelope over and tore it open. I unfolded the letter, and the first sentence hit me like a hot poker. I couldn’t read the next sentence or the next word. I fell over into the chair next to the doorway. It was as if my dream had suddenly just forced it’s way out of the recesses of my mind and grabbed me by the throat. How could this be? How could I have this dream only a little while ago and now my assailant was here again, but instead of a Luger, he had wielded a pen. My heart was racing instead of bleeding, but the mental pain was just as real as my dream. I opened the letter again, now that I was sitting down and began to read where my life had almost ended over 50 years ago.

“I never meant to pull the trigger. You have to believe me. I’m sorry Captain Von Trapp. If you will only let me explain why I am writing and why I never contacted you since that night you left Austria………”